By the Barber's Blades
by RobinRocks
Summary: For everyone who watched Sweeney Todd and thought of Light. Featuring Misa as Mrs Lovett and Light as our favourite razor-wielding sociopath barber. ONESHOT.


Okay, well, I've seen _Sweeney Todd_ four times in the cinema due to various circumstances, and quite frankly, Todd reminds me of Light, especially during the song _Epiphany_, where he proclaims that everyone deserves to die and that everyone is evil and such like…

And I guess Misa is kind of like Mrs Lovett, so…

I came out with this: _Death Note_ and _Sweeney Todd_ slammed unmercifully together.

* * *

'_For the lives of the wicked should be made—brief;_

_For the rest of us death will be a relief…'_

- Johnny Depp; _Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_

By the Barber's Blades

To kill with one's bare hands and to kill with the aid of something that served as an extension of the arm were two completely different things – as trivial a difference as it seemed, it _made_ all the difference in the world, for the thing in your hand to remove the blame from your shoulders.

These things were not created to be the monsters he had made of them; blades of silver, meant as tools of an art form, not to be used to slice skin and tendons and veins.

They were not meant to have 'DEATH' inscribed upon them.

Odd, that such an everyday item could become such a deadly weapon when placed in the hand of one willing to use it as such.

Sometimes he stood at that grimy window and wondered how much different it would be if he were granted a tool that killed without seeming to kill – perhaps a swipe of a pen in place of a razor to destroy those who ascended that staircase, like lambs to the slaughter.

Something that wouldn't leave rubies spattered up the grey-white sleeves of his shirt every time he wrought his justice.

_He's fixed on this path now – it's a personal quest, a blazing trail marked by the blood of others he'll willingly shed, all in the name of his ultimate goal. Call him corrupted – call him sinned against. Psychotic, insane, bored—_

_It's all the same._

_There are wicked people and out there, and don't they deserve to die?…_

He'd taken a different name under which to work, because blades can be pens and pens blades, not that either of those had ever dripped rubies while his name had been Light Yagami.

And then there was _her_.

She was just as bad; no, maybe _worse_.

She gave a friendly impression; lively, bubbly, always with a smile on her face – low, tight bodices edged with lace, full skirts trailing in the filth on the floor, without an ounce of madness about her.

And yes, surely that made her worse – for her to encourage him, to support him in his madness, to endorse his killing spree, his purging of the wicked, with no madness of her own to her name… Maybe it was just that blind, longing love for him that made her so amicable, so willing to come up with a way to conceal the amassing body count, courtesy of his blades…

He didn't love her, but she seemed to be contented enough in _imagining_ that he did.

There were no secrets between them, after all – he'd killed first and she'd seen no error in his judgement, immediately installing herself as the accomplice in his crimes.

In a man-eat-man world, maybe it seemed right to both of them that, within the confines of their own personal sins, man should indeed eat man.

—

"I washed your shirt for you." Misa laid the folded thing, now back to its usual grubby white, over the arm of the chair he'd modified – the notebook to the pen. "You really have to stop getting blood all over it…"

Light didn't look at her, leaning at the window with a forearm pressed to the grime-grey panes – gleaming blades tucked into his belt beneath his waistcoat.

"So many more evil people down there," he murmured, more to himself. "So many more throats to slit, wicked lives to end…"

His tone was absent and hollow, though Misa preferred to pretend she couldn't hear the devoid quality of it – just as she preferred to pretend that there _was_ more that mattered to him than his twisted justice.

That _she_ mattered to him as much as his twisted justice did.

What were they even _serving_? Justice or customers or meat pies?

"We don't have to do this forever," she said softly, distractedly smoothing the shirt. "I was thinking—"

"Yes, not forever," he interrupted coldly, sliding out one of the razors and flipped it open to observe his reflection in it. "One day, they'll all be gone. All the evil people I the world will be gone, and the world will be a better place, and we can rest…"

He held the silver blade up to the grey sunlight.

"…And then my friends can rest."

He watched her approach him in the reflection of the tool, skirts swaying; not reacting at all when she slipped her hands over his shoulders and pressed her cheek to his back, giving a little sigh.

She looked across the room at the cracked mirror, reflecting a spliced picture of a woman and the man she loved – he loving something else more than her.

He loved those _blades_ far more than her.

The door behind them swung open, creaking a melancholy wail to the silent room; Misa looked over her shoulder as the man who had entered took off his hat for the last time.

A small smile dusted over her pale lips.

"Out," Light said in a low voice to her; but she knew.

She crossed the room, smiling at the man who'd soon be a broken, bleeding pile on her bake-house floor. He offered her a polite smile in return, though it wouldn't make much difference when she was tearing out his spine and organs.

The door closed; leaving Light alone to turn to the man with one of his brilliant fake smiles in place, razor – for now – tucked safely away again.

"A shave is it, sir?" He asked graciously, gesturing with a half-bow to the chair.

The man gave a nod, allowing the barber to take his coat and settling into the chair.

"I've heard very good things about your skill as a barber," he said, loosening his cravat to bear his throat beneath the killer's blade; not noticing the way the man behind him ran his thumb lovingly over the diamond edge of the razor.

"…Kira."

* * *

_'Back of his smile; under his word_

_Sweeney heard music that nobody heard--_

_Sweeney pondered and Sweeney planned;_

_Like a perfect machine, he planned...'_

- _**The Ballad of Sweeney Todd**_ (Broadway version)

* * *

It's actually a little ironic that _Sweeney Todd_ has become so popular – I myself find it odd to be doing a fanfic that is at least _related_ to it, since the story isn't new to me; nor indeed to anyone who has ever owned _The Vile Victorians_ Horrible Histories book, within which is a very short version of the _Sweeney Todd_ tale.

I've had that book since I was about eight, so the sudden _Sweeney Todd_ phenomenon is kind of strange to me.

But the movie kicks major ass, so whatever. I can't believe Johnny Depp lost out on an Oscar for it to Daniel Day Lewis…

Okay, so I've seen the movie probably too many times – but you only need to get worried when I decide to bleach a strand of my hair white…

And yes, those last lyrics are from a song that wasn't actually in the movie - they're from the opening song of the original Stephen Sondheim Broadway musical. Interestingly, it _wasn't _Tim Burton's idea to make a musical out of a story about a murderous barber...


End file.
